Family Portrait
by homesweethomicide13
Summary: AU. When Barda met Lindal, he knew they were meant to be. Now, twenty years down the line, their constant fighting has led to their separation, and only their youngest children can bring them back together.
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Family Portrait  
**Author:** homesweethomicide13  
**Rating:** T  
**Pairing:** BardaLindal, mentions LiefJasmine and Jarda  
**Warning:** Profanity  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine.  
**Summary:** AU. When Barda met Lindal, he knew they were meant to be. Now, twenty years down the line, their constant fighting has led to their separation, and only their youngest children can bring them back together.

**Family Portrait**

**Chapter 1**

It was his phone that woke him. Not his alarm clock, which _should_ have gone off three hours earlier, nor the noisy dog next door, who had been barking at the same cat for the last hour, and certainly not the five children playing loudly with a ball on the field behind the two bedroom flat he called his home. As the shrill rings echoed from the hall, he slowly dragged the bed sheets down from over his head, and glared at the red digital numbers on the alarm clock next to his head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he was late for something, but he couldn't figure out what. Groaning with the effort, he sat up and got out of bed, shuffling across the room towards the door. His foot caught on the edge of his bed and he stumbled into the door, the handle catching him just above his eye. Hissing with pain, he pulled himself upright and turned the offending handle, forcing the door open wide enough to slip out into the hall.

The phone was still ringing by the time he got to it – which was surprising since it had taken him at least five minutes to get there. He lifted the receiver and held it to one ear, rubbing at one eye at the same time.

"Yeah, what do you want?" He growled out.

"What a pleasant way to answer your phone." He cringed at the voice on the other end. Without saying another word, he went on a search for his cigarettes. There was no way he could get through a phone call with _her_ without nicotine in his system. "I'm just calling to make sure you haven't forgotten." He found an old, crushed packet in the kitchen, and stuck an equally crumpled cigarette between his lips. Now to search for a lighter.

"Forgotten what?" He asked her as he lifted papers and books on the kitchen table in an attempt to look for his lighter. He had long ago mastered the art of speaking coherently with a cigarette between his lips.

"Oh for…" There was a pause, and a frustrated sigh. "You do know what today is, right?" He gave up on the lighter and instead made a beeline for the oven, bending to light the hob. It clicked into life after a pause, and a glorious orange flame burst out, flickering at the metal grate surrounding it. He bent forward, touching the end of his cigarette to the fire.

"Today? Uh… _shit_," he hissed as one flame sparked up and licked at his face. He bolted backwards, rubbing at the spot and scowled at the hob. He took a long draw on his cigarette, and exhaled with bliss. "Sure, I know what today is." He glanced over at the calendar on his wall – which, he noticed, was now two years out of date. "It's a Saturday, right?" He cringed again – he could practically hear how furious she was.

"I do _not_ believe you!" She was almost screaming at him now. "How can you forget your own child's _birthday_?" He held the phone away from his ear, wincing at the sudden rise in volume. He took another long draw on his cigarette, and waited for the screeching to stop.

"I knew what the day was; don't get all squeaky on me." He sighed, rolling his eyes. There was a long pause on her end, and he could visualise her clutching at the phone, thinking up new ways of killing him. "So, what… you want me to come over?"

"I want you to be on time, and _presentable_." She barked at him. "I won't have you ruining their eighth birthday by stumbling in late, and _drunk_, like at their seventh birthday party." He rolled his eyes again.

"I was not _drunk_. I'd had a couple of beers, that's all."

"You couldn't even stand up!"

"I have balance issues!"

"That's _bullshit_ and you bloody know it!"

"Will you just relax? Jeez. I'll be there." He listened as she tried to calm herself down on the other end. He heard her take several deep breaths.

"You had better be, or so help me I will come down there myself and drag your sorry ass over here so your children can see what a worthless, useless, lazy piece of shit you really are."

"Okay, ouch."

"4:30pm. Do _not_ be late." There was a click, and then the dial tone sounded in his ear. She'd hung up on him, again. He stood for a moment with the phone still pressed to his ear, cigarette smouldering away in his other hand. He walked back to the hall and replaced the receiver with a sigh, and stuck the cigarette back between his lips. He turned towards the bathroom, and the photograph beside the phone caught his eye. He let his gaze linger on the woman in the picture for a moment, before forcing himself to look away. He stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower on. He wandered back into the kitchen while the water heated up, finishing off his cigarette. He stubbed it out in an ashtray – which really needed to be emptied soon – and dug out a clean bath towel from the pile on top of his laundry basket.

When he returned to the bathroom, the water was at the right temperature, and so he stripped off the t-shirt and boxers he'd been sleeping in, and stepped under the hot spray. He stood there for a moment, letting the water wash over him, and wake him up a little more. He _hated_ the phone conversations he had with her. It was usually worse face-to-face, except at her home. It was one of the reasons he tried not to see her in person except the few times he was invited over.

Once he felt he was sufficiently clean, he stepped out of the shower onto a rug that had seen better days, and quickly wrapped the bath towel around his waist. He picked up a smaller towel from the floor of the bathroom, sniffed it quickly to check it was still usable, and then used it to dry his hair. There was a knock at the front door, and then the doorbell rang, and he cursed, dropping the towel onto the floor and, with one hand holding the other towel around his waist, he rushed to the door. He drew back the catch and opened the door a crack, poking his head round. Standing there, smiling widely, was his only real friend. With a smile in return, he stepped back and opened the door wider, inviting him in.

"Hey Barda!" He said cheerily. He then took in the man's appearance. "Have you only just got out of the shower?" Barda rolled his eyes.

"No, Jarred, I just figured I'd dress like this today." Jarred closed the front door and watched as Barda disappeared into his bedroom. "What are you doing here anyway?" He called out from behind the door. It was Jarred's turn to roll his eyes.

"Well, you were supposed to be in the studio three hours ago," Jarred called back. In his bedroom, Barda cringed. _Shit._ "So I decided to come and check you weren't dead or something."

"Fuck, sorry." Barda said to him, emerging from his room in a pair of jeans that were on the verge of falling apart, and a white t-shirt. "My alarm's broken I think. I only woke up like, an hour ago." He stuffed his hand into a pocket and pulled out another pack of cigarettes. "Did I miss anything important?" Jarred reached into the bag he had over one shoulder and pulled out a folder.

"We had to do a small shoot for the council this morning – nothing important, so we'll probably never see it go to print – but Gers filled in for you on that one." Barda took the folder and opened it, looking through the details of the shoot. "But David is really pissed off, Barda. He told me to tell you that if you don't start pulling your weight, he's gonna call a meeting and discuss letting you go."

"What?" Barda hissed. "He can't do that!"

"Look, it's true that you're our company's best photographer, and I'll fight for you, that's for sure, but everyone is fed up of not knowing whether you'll turn up for a shoot or not. It could have been something major this morning, and Gers isn't nearly as good as you." Jarred ran a hand through his long dark hair. "You never know, Barda, some big shot executive could come to us and ask us to do a shoot for his company, and if you're not there…"

"Like that's ever gonna happen, Jarred." Barda sighed in frustration. He walked through into the kitchen and dumped the folder onto his kitchen table. Jarred followed slowly, expertly stepping around the mess in the hall. "The only people who come to us are the ones who can't afford a proper fucking studio." Jarred winced. He knew from experience that if Barda was this negative, it could only mean one thing.

"She call you again?"

"How could you tell?" Barda growled, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of beer. "Want one?" Jarred shook his head. Shrugging, Barda opened a drawer and rummaged around for a bottle opener. When he couldn't find one, he cursed and lifted the bottle to his mouth, and used his teeth to open it. "Had the nerve to accuse me of forgetting that it was the twins' birthday today, then listed off a number of things she thought I was." Jarred smiled sadly. He'd known Barda since college, had been his closest friend for a number of years, and had even been Barda's best man when he got married to his high school sweetheart. So he had been a first-hand witness to the destruction of that marriage, and had been the one who picked up the broken pieces of his best friend.

"Hey, I'll talk to David, yeah? I'll tell him you had a bad day, and to go easy on you. I think he knows as well as the rest of us that if he kicks you out, the company will suffer so much we may have to shut down completely." Jarred reached out and put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "You're what brings in the money, you know." Barda nodded and stuck a cigarette between his lips. He was about to light the hob again when Jarred reached under an upturned saucepan on the worktop beside them, and pulled out a lighter. With a short laugh, Barda took the lighter and lit up. "Look, take the rest of the day off, and don't let her get to you, yeah?"

"Thanks, J." Barda smiled. Jarred grinned and leant over to kiss his cheek.

"No problem. If you need to talk tonight, you've got my number."

"Yeah, thanks." He set the bottle of beer down on the worktop and pulled his friend into a hug. He pulled back a moment later and smiled. "You go on get back to work. Don't want David considering the possibility of having you fired too." Jarred laughed.

"He wouldn't dare. The place would fall apart without me. Give the little monsters my love when you see them." Barda walked with Jarred back to the front door. "Just make sure you're in work on Monday, on time, otherwise David will be really pissed off."

"Yeah, yeah. I will." Barda waved him off and closed the door, leaning against it for a moment. He glanced at the clock on the wall – 1:30pm. Plenty of time until he had to leave. He wandered back into the kitchen and picked up the bottle of beer he'd started. He walked through into the lounge and dropped onto the sofa, switching the TV on as he did so. He kicked a stack of magazines off the coffee table and put his feet up, knocking over a wine glass as he did. Scowling, he leant forward and picked it up, using a newspaper to mop up the few drops of wine that had been in the glass. As a news program played in the background, he stared around at the lounge and sighed. It was a mess.

The floor was covered with newspapers, folders from work, project briefs and plans, empty beer bottles and beer cans, and there was a stack of wine bottles in one corner. He'd thrown several jackets onto one chair, mainly to cover the pile of dirty plates and glasses from the last time he had a few friends over for drinks. His coffee table was littered with magazines and newspapers, a stack of rejected photo prints, and even more empty beer bottles. The photographs hanging on his walls were askew. Every surface was littered with empty bottles or cans, and ashtrays full of cigarette butts.

He jumped slightly when the phone rang again, and he put his beer down on the coffee table before standing up and walking out into the hall. He stepped over a pile of photo prints by the lounge door and took his time getting to the phone.

"Yeah?" He answered, not really in the mood to talk to anyone else.

"Barda? I need to ask you a favour." Barda sighed.

"Jinks, I'm not going to lend you money. I've told you before." James 'Jinks' Norton had been bothering Barda ever since college when they'd met in the student bar early one morning, and Barda had made the mistake of talking to him. Jinks was a creep. A creep who gambled and caused trouble.

"I'm not asking for money, Barda."

"Then what do you want?"

"A friend of mine has just started dating my ex, and I sort of told them I had a partner so it wouldn't seem like I was some stupid loner, and they invited me to do a double-date, and well…"

"I'm not pretending to be your boyfriend." Barda said instantly. "No way. Find someone else to scam your friends." He hung up without waiting for Jinks to reply. He'd hoped that after so many years, Jinks would have given up and decided to leave him alone. No such luck. He got a call every now and then, and sometimes Jinks would turn up at his studio – and once or twice at his flat – and nothing he did ever seemed to put the guy off.

He walked back into the lounge and changed the TV channel to something a bit more interesting. Lying down on the sofa, he glanced at the clock and made a mental note of how long he had before he had to leave.

* * *

His phone woke him up again. He jolted awake, almost falling off the sofa, and sat up. He switched off the TV and stood up, stretching to ease his muscles. It was never comfortable when he slept on the sofa. He glanced at the clock.

"Fuck." He ran to the phone, dreading the voice he knew he'd hear. "Hello?"

"Where the hell are you?"

"Evidently, still in my flat." He wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He knew that wasn't the right thing to say at a time like this.

"Either you get down here in the next ten minutes or there will be serious trouble." The phone went dead, and Barda sighed, putting it back on the receiver. He walked through into his bedroom, taking off the old jeans and t-shirt. She _had_ said presentable, after all. He found a decent pair of black trousers and a dark blue dress shirt, and then he stood in front of the bathroom mirror for a few minutes attempting to tame his hair. Giving up, he grabbed his keys, wallet, cigarettes and phone, slipped on a jacket, and headed out of the door. It took him three minutes to start his car, and then he was off, trying not to speed too much.

He was almost at ten minutes when he pulled up outside what used to be his house, and he ran up to the front door, knocking loudly upon it. The door swung open and he attempted to smile apologetically at the woman standing there.

"Sorry, I was working on a project…" He told her. "Lost track of time."

"So your work is more important than your children?" She hissed, dragging him inside by the front of his shirt. "Ugh, you stink of cigarettes. I take it you haven't quit like you said you would?" He rolled his eyes. "Still, at least you attempted to make yourself presentable."

"Don't start this now, Lindal." He muttered. She ignored him.

"You couldn't even be bothered to shave?" At her words, he ran a hand over his chin and winced when he felt the stubble. How had he not noticed that? "How much of an effort did you even make? You look terrible."

"Lindal, please-"

"And I don't see any gifts with you. Not even a card. Have you actually gotten anything for your children?" He winced.

"I didn't know what to buy." He muttered. "Where are they?"

"They're in the garden." Lindal told him, finally moving on from his appearance. "I will go and call them in. I don't want you disturbing their friends as well." Barda opened his mouth to argue, but she was already turning on her heel and disappearing into the house. Barda's shoulders sagged as he let out a soft sigh, and he turned slightly, looking around the house he used to live in.

Lindal had gotten everything in the divorce. The house, the car, the holiday home beside the beach. He only got to see his kids once a week, and they weren't allowed to stay more than two nights at a time. Not that Lindal let them stay at his flat anymore. He wandered through into the family den, and made his way over to the row of framed photos along a shelf against the wall beside the huge TV. All the photos were of the children, some with Lindal amongst them, but there wasn't a single photo of him, or of the entire family. His photographs that had once taken pride of place on the walls had been removed, replaced with another photographer's work. His studio in the back of the house had been turned into a storage room. Every little trace of him was gone.

"DADDY!" He turned sharply at the familiar girlish voice, and his face lit up at the sight of his daughter running towards him. He went down to one knee, scooping her up into his arms when she reached him, and held her close against his chest. Mariah was their second child, now ten years old, and she was a complete daddy's girl. "Daddy, I'm so glad you came!"

"Oh, me too, princess." He murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. There was a tug at his shirt and he looked down, smiling at the boy standing beside him. "Hey, kiddo." The boy grinned back at him, and then hugged his waist. Liam, eleven and a half, was their eldest son.

"I heard mom shout at you earlier." He muttered into his father's stomach, clutching at him tightly. Mariah and Liam had suffered the worst in the months leading up to the divorce. They'd had to sit and watch their parents fight bitterly, angrily, scream at each other until their throats were raw. And then they'd had to stand by and watch as their father packed his bags and walked out the front door, with nowhere to go.

"It's okay, kiddo. I guess I deserved it." He ruffled Liam's hair, and set Mariah down on the ground again. "So, where are the monsters?" He smiled. As if on cue, two young boys bolted through the door, both wielding plastic guns and wearing cowboy hats.

"Freeze! Put ya hands in da air!" One of them yelled with a wild grin, pointing the gun at Barda. The other stepped closer, pointing the gun right up at the ceiling. Barda, so pleased to see his little boys, played along, holding up his hands. "You is under arrest for trespassing!"

"I'm so very sorry, sheriff." Barda said in a mock-scared voice, taking note of the 'Sheriff' badges on the front of their shirts. "I did not mean to."

"Well… aw'right then." The other boy grinned, putting his gun down. "We'll let ya go, on one condition."

"And what's that?" Barda asked with a smile.

"Ya give us a hug, daddy!" They both yelled at once. Barda laughed and dropped to his knees, pulling them both into his arms. Jay and Joeley were identical twins, except for their eyes. Before Joeley's eyes had turned brown when he was a baby, he and Lindal had had so much trouble telling the difference between the two, often getting them mixed up with the other. Even now, if the boys had their eyes closed or covered, everyone had trouble telling which one was which. When they both wriggled free, they gazed at him with hope. "What did ya get us, daddy?" His heart sank.

"I, uh… sorry boys, daddy doesn't have that much money, and…" He trailed off when he saw how disappointed they were. "Tell you what, when you come and visit next, I'll take you somewhere nice to make up for it. How about that?" They both shrugged. With a heavy heart, Barda leant forward and pressed a kiss to both their heads. "Sorry boys. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"'Kay." Jay smiled, his blue eyes sparkling. "Come on, daddy! Come play with us!" Barda got to his feet and both boys started tugging on his hands, dragging him towards the kitchen. Mariah and Liam followed behind, silent.

"Boys, what have I told you about making such a racket indoors?" Lindal chided when they started laughing and yelling as they dragged Barda with them. She straightened up and her eyes went cold when she saw him. "Kids, go on outside. Your father will follow in a moment." All four obeyed quickly. Barda stopped and looked around, noting the familiar faces of Lief and Jasmine sat at the kitchen counter.

Lief and Jasmine lived in the house next door, and had three children of their own – their twin boys, Jared and Endon, were good friends of Jay and Joeley. The two couples had become close friends over the years, but after the divorce Lief and Jasmine had pretty much blanked him and shut him out of their lives.

"Are you really going to do this now, Lindal?" Barda sighed.

"Yes, I am. When you're in my house, you have to play by my rules. I don't want you here longer than necessary. You're permitted to stay until after we've cut the birthday cake. You're not to go near any alcohol, you're not permitted to smoke anywhere in or around the house, and if I dislike your behaviour, I want you out. Is this clear?"

"Sir, yes, sir." Barda shot back angrily, turning and marching out into the garden before he said something he would later regret. Or point out something that really wouldn't help. Like the fact that before they'd gotten married, _her_ house had been _his_ house.

It was another hour before the children were called inside for cake and other treats. Barda stood at the back of the room, leaning against the wall, watching with slight sadness as Lindal leant over the twins to light the candles on their cake. A few other adults were in the room – parents of the other children – and they all joined in as the first few lines of the 'Happy Birthday' song was sung. Barda longed to be beside Lindal as Jay and Joeley blew out their candles, longed to be with his family as Lindal cut the cake and began dishing it out to all the children. Feeling tears sting the back of his eyes, he turned and left the kitchen, heading towards the front door.

"Dad?" He turned and saw Liam standing in the kitchen doorway, watching him with concern. "You're leaving?"

"Yeah." He replied with a sigh. "I'm not welcome here, kiddo. Your mom, she… she doesn't want me here." He forced a smile onto his face. "I'll see you next Wednesday, okay?" Liam nodded. "Bye, kiddo." Barda opened the front door and stepped outside, closing it behind him. Blinking back tears, he walked down to his car and got in, starting up the engine and driving back towards his flat.

He knew he was a terrible father. He barely had enough money to support himself, let alone his four children. He was paying money to Lindal every month – as was the law – to support both her and the children, and it left him with very little. He had an awful flat which wasn't suitable to house even one child for a night, a terrible job that was going nowhere, and his life was slowly going down the drain. He hadn't even looked at another woman since the divorce – he couldn't. He and Lindal had been in love since high school, she was the only girl he'd ever given his heart to. He knew it was his fault they'd started to fall apart. He'd known it as it was happening, but he'd been too damn stubborn to stand up and do something about it. He once had a loving wife and wonderful children to go home to every evening.

Now all he had was a filthy, cluttered, empty flat.

* * *

_**Author's Note:** So that was the first chapter of Family Portrait! Hope you enjoyed it. I'll get chapter 2 done soon!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Shit!" Barda leapt out of bed with a jolt. His feet tangled in the sheets and he twisted, landing on his front on the hard wooden floor. Groaning in pain, he kicked his legs to free them, and scrambled upright. He dragged on the first clothes he could find, smoothed down his hair with a hand dampened with spit – which made him cringe, but hell if he had time for a shower now – and ran from the room. He shoved his equipment into his backpack, stuffed his feet into a pair of battered boots, grabbed a jacket and headed out the door. He was going to be late for work. Again.

His mobile rang in his pocket as he was driving, and he cursed, dragging it out of his pocket and immediately switching it to loudspeaker. He glanced at the name on the caller ID and relaxed a little. Instead of 'David Work' flashing on the screen, which he'd been expecting, it said 'Jarred'.

"Yeah, I'm on my way, don't panic!" He said instantly. He heard Jarred chuckle a little on the other end.

"Sleep through your alarm again, did you?"

"No, the damn thing is broken." Barda sighed, swerving around a car attempting to turn off the main road. He floored the accelerator, hoping that there were no police around. That would really go down well. "Need to buy a new one."

"Why didn't you use the one on your phone?" Barda rolled his eyes. He had, of course, forgotten about that option, but he wasn't about to say that. Sensing the silence, Jarred changed the subject. "How did it go on Saturday?"

"Oh you know, the usual." Barda sighed. "Bitched at me about my appearance, basically pointed out I'm a terrible father, stated the rules of being in her house and made me feel so much like an outcast that I ended up leaving before I broke down in the kitchen." He slammed on the brakes as someone turned into the road directly ahead of him. "Oh, what a wanker!" He growled. "Some people shouldn't have a damn driver's license."

"Barda, you're one of those people." Jarred laughed. "There's a reason I don't get into a car with you anymore."

"Oh shut it. At least I'm not a fucking moron like the idiot in front of me." He muttered. He turned off the road and into the town centre, heading towards the small studio he called work. "How's Dickface this morning?"

"He's his usual moody self. And you know, Barda, it would help your case if you didn't call him that all the time." Jarred chided. "David doesn't like you as it is. If he heard some of the things you say about him…"

"He's a cowardly, useless weasel who has no sense of class or style. He's just a suit who thinks he can boss me around. He doesn't even know anything about photography!" Barda hissed, making a rude gesture at someone who'd just walked out in front of his car. "Next time I'll fucking run you over, asswipe!" He yelled out the window.

"Barda, I think you need to take some anger management classes." Jarred said, sounding worried. "You're not usually this… fiery."

"I'm just fed up, J. Fed up of a job and a life that's going nowhere." He sighed, calming down a little. "Anyway, I'm almost there. Distract Stick-Up-His-Arse until I get there, okay?"

"I'll try my best." Jarred laughed, and hung up. Barda tossed his phone onto the seat next to him and pulled into the side road that the studio backed onto. Parking his car in the tiny 'Staff Only' car park, he grabbed his stuff and locked up, strolling up to the door on the side of the building. He punched in the code to open the door and used his shoulder to push it open, sliding in through the small gap it created as it opened, and then kicked it closed again. Instantly, a young boy in smart black trousers and a black t-shirt ran up to him.

"Hi Barda! Can I take your bag?" Barda couldn't help but smile at the kid.

"No, it's alright Zerry. I got it." He told him. "I could do with a coffee though." The boy beamed widely.

"Coming right up!" He scampered off quickly, bolting through a door marked 'Staff Lounge'. Barda chuckled a little as he walked through the small hallway towards the door right at the end. Zerry was their assistant. He'd started out simply as a work experience student from school, but after his parents had died in a car crash, Zerry was left to look after his little brothers and sisters. He'd dropped out of school, and turned up on their doorstep one day asking if he could have a permanent job. After some discussion with Dickface, Zerry had been hired.

Barda walked through the door at the end of the hall and dumped his bag underneath the desk that took up most of the room. This was the cupboard they liked to call his office. He draped his jacket over the back of the chair and slumped into it, running his hands over his face. A head poked around the open doorway and grinned at him.

"Morning Barda!" Marilen was always smiling. It probably had something to do with the baby she'd had recently, but Barda wasn't sure. He honestly couldn't see any reason to smile when you were stuck being David's secretary. "Nice to see you here."

"Yeah, guess so." He murmured, not looking at her. "Let me guess, David wants to see me?"

"You got it!" She disappeared from the doorway. Barda groaned and reached for his cigarettes. David and Lindal had something in common – he couldn't face a conversation with either without fresh nicotine in his system. He lit up and left the office, strolling down the hall to David's office. Naturally, his office was bigger, even though he only used it to sit on his ass all day and shout orders.

David was a hard man, and very cruel. He was as tall as Barda, with a similar body shape. He had long dark hair – so long it had to be tied up at all times otherwise it just got in the way – and dark blue eyes that were always flat and cold. People often said that he and David looked similar, some even confused them for family, but Barda was fairly certain that they were as far from relatives as you can get.

"Well, at least you're relatively presentable." David drawled in his cool, crisp voice that always seemed, to Barda, to be full of ice. It was no secret that David didn't like him, and everyone knew the feeling was mutual. "Though we're never going to rise up in the world if our employees look so haggard." Barda felt a vein high on his forehead twitch in annoyance, and one hand balled into a fist. He quickly stuffed said hand into his pocket, before it became stuffed into David's face.

"Did you want me for something? Or can I go and do some real work?" It was a low blow, but it had to be dealt. He took a long drag on his cigarette, and blew the smoke in David's direction, knowing just how irked David got over his smoking indoors.

"I sent for you so that we could discuss your position at this studio." David folded strong arms over his chest, focused his icy navy eyes on Barda's bright, electric one. "The position you are failing to commit to. For the past four weeks, Gers has had to do twice his normal workload because you were too drunk or too lazy to get off your ass and come into work. If you don't start shaping up, I'm cutting you loose."

"Bloody try it, Dickface." Barda growled, feeling the familiar fire of anger burning in his abdomen, crawling up his throat. "Cut me loose and you can say goodbye to those high-life dreams of yours. Lose me, you'll lose Jarred. You'll lose your best damn photographer, and your best behind-the-scenes man. This company will be shit trodden into the gutter once we've turned our backs on it, and you damn well know it." They had a stare-down for two long minutes. David was fuming, rage boiling in those dark eyes, his jaw clenched in anger. Barda was just as angry, his fist clenched tightly in the pocket of his jeans, his whole body tense as if expecting a fight, his own jaw set stubbornly, ready to bark back at his supposed boss.

"You're lucky you're so damn good at what you do, Leordo." David hissed finally, blinking once to break the death-glare that had been passing between the two men.

"No. If anything, I'm lucky cause you're such a damn coward." Barda dropped his cigarette into a mostly-drunk coffee on David's desk, turned and made for the door. He stopped, hand on the door handle, and turned his head to glance over his shoulder. "Speak to me like dirt again, and I'll be grinding your face into it." Then he opened the door, and left.

Zerry was waiting in his 'office' for him, a hot cup of coffee on his desk. The boy also had a folder tucked under one arm, and he was hopping from foot to foot as he read through one of the few framed magazine stories on the wall. He flashed a huge grin at Barda as he entered.

"Did you really take this photo, Barda?" The man couldn't help but smile. Zerry hadn't been in his office many times before, and the few times he had, he hadn't exactly had much time to look around. He was reading one of the first magazine stories Barda had done the photography work for.

"Yep. Few years ago that one, though. Not really done anything like it since." Not since Leordo-Hill Studios had become LLH Studios, when David 'Dickface' Levar had been brought in to apparently 'help' them advance forward in the industry. David had done nothing but hold them back.

"It's really good!" Zerry examined it closer. "Like, the angle really captures the mood, and the lighting-" he broke off and blushed a little, embarrassed. "Sorry. I get carried away a bit." Barda lit up another cigarette and sat down.

"It's fine, Z." He smiled. "Have I got any outstanding project briefs?" He glanced at the folder under Zerry's arm.

"OH. Yes, sorry." He held out the folder. "Jarred told me to give you this." Barda took it and opened it, flipped through the contents. Then he nodded.

"Thanks." He picked up the coffee on his desk and drank some. "Excellent as always, Zerry." The boy grinned again. "How's the family?"

"Getting by." He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his torn jeans. "Anyway, I've got errands to run. I'll see you later, Barda!" Barda lifted a hand in goodbye as Zerry darted out of the room. Sighing, he sat back in his chair, dumping the folder onto the paper bombsite he liked to call his desk. He dragged a hand through his hair and booted up the computer that sat at one end.

"Wow. You look like shit." He turned and rolled his eyes at Jarred, who was leaning against the doorframe. "Rough night?"

"Guess you could say that." Barda muttered. Jarred walked inside, kicking the door closed, and stood behind Barda's chair. He placed his hands on Barda's shoulders and bent, kissing the top of his head.

"C'mon, cheer up, B. You know I don't like it when you're all down and depressed." He murmured softly. He rubbed Barda's shoulders softly, then moved around the chair so he was stood in front of him, his hand now resting against Barda's neck. Barda looked up at him, meeting those gorgeous green eyes with his own blue ones.

There was no doubt that Jarred was a beautiful man. He had the softest hair Barda had ever touched, and no matter what the weather, it would always frame his face in the most complimentary way, even when dripping wet. His eyes were the brightest, prettiest green Barda had ever seen, and sparkled no matter what his mood was.

"Yeah, I know, J." He sighed. "Sorry. I just… hate going nowhere." He glanced up at the framed article Zerry had been inspecting earlier. Jarred turned and followed his gaze.

"Ah." He turned back to Barda and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "One day, B. Your name is gonna be in flashing lights, you'll be in all the magazines, and people will be wanting to take _your_ picture." He smiled. "I can just see it now. You'll be doing all the promo shots for the film stars, and rock stars, and all those people with more money than brains. You'll be the first name on people's lips when they ask about the best photographer in town. You'll be the only photographer people will want, and when they can't have you, they'll throw tantrums and threaten to quit." It had the desired effect. Barda was smiling again.

"Yeah, and I'll have so many requests that I'll be tearing my hair out, and then you'll swoop in, ever the hero, and save me from the monsters that are after my camera." He laughed. "Right, shoo. I've got a pile of work that needs finishing, and it ain't gonna get smaller with you hovering around looking gorgeous." He waved him away. Jarred laughed and bent to kiss his cheek before he headed towards the door.

"See you at lunch, handsome." He pulled the door closed after he left.

-x-

At lunchtime, Jarred returned. He knocked on the door and poked his head around, a grin plastered to his face. It widened even more when he saw Barda sat at his desk, a pair of glasses perched on his nose as he fiddled with a piece of equipment. The photographer was completely lost in his work, ignorant of the world going on around him. He swore under his breath when something clicked loudly, and reached for the screwdriver that was threaded through the hair above one ear. Jarred noted that he had a couple of pencils threaded in his hair, too, as well as a small ruler. He'd never understood how he got them to stay there.

"Something not working?" He asked conversationally. He didn't expect a response. He'd seen Barda like this too many times before to know that he wouldn't have heard him. Hell, he'd probably not realise if the building fell down around him.

"… bastard." Barda growled, sticking the screwdriver between his teeth. He fiddled with the equipment some more, and then the screwdriver was back in his hand. After a moment, he grinned. "Aha! Fuck you. I win." He looked up, and finally spotted Jarred. "Oh. Hi."

"Fixed it then?" Jarred laughed, walking into the room. Barda smiled.

"Yeah. The clicker wasn't working properly, so it was only relying on a self-timer." Jarred mentally phased out. He knew the basics of photography, and some of the equipment, but when it got into the more technical stuff, he was lost. He was just a graphics guy. He knew his way around a computer, knew everything there was to know about the images he worked with – but he knew little about how the images came to be. He could just about work a handheld automatic digital camera.

"I see." He smiled. "Ready for lunch, handsome?" Barda nodded and set the equipment down, dropping the screwdriver into a small case of tools beside his desk. He slowly pulled out the pencils and ruler and chucked them down onto the desk beside the equipment. He smoothed his hair down and grabbed his jacket.

"Alright, let's go." He grinned at Jarred, who was just happy to see the guy smiling like that again. They left the studio and went to the bakery not far down the road, and picked up their usual order. This was a routine of theirs, a way to escape work for a while and just relax. Then they walked down to a small grassy area – calling it a park would be too much, since it was literally just a rectangular field with benches dotted around it – and took a seat under a tree.

"How did it go with David?" Jarred asked, taking a bite from his baguette. Mayonnaise dripped from the corner of his mouth, and Barda smirked, before he leant in and swiped it off with one finger, and sucked his finger clean. Jarred laughed a little.

"He was a bit of a dick, as always, but I think I let him know that I ain't gonna stand for his bullshit any longer." He shrugged. "I'm not taking it any longer, J. I'm getting our goddamn business back in the market. I'm fed up of taking shitty little jobs for the council that only have a 60 percent chance of actually going to print."

"Well… you know there are bigger studios than ours, Barda." Jarred sighed. "We're in a tough occupation. There are so many small studios trying to make it big, and only a small capacity for success."

"We managed it once." Barda lit up a cigarette, blew the smoke into the air. He watched it curl and twist for a moment. "We were on our way up, making it big. We were getting good jobs and good word-of-mouth advertising. People were beginning to know our name. And then…"

"We agreed to bring David into the company." Jarred finished for him. "And don't say what I know you're about to say. _We_ agreed, Barda. Joint decision."

"Wasn't gonna say anything." Barda muttered, his tone suggesting otherwise. "Why can't we just ditch him again?"

"Because we can't." Jarred cracked open the can of Coke he'd bought, took a long sip. "What's on your mind, then?" At Barda's silence, he rolled his eyes. "How long have I known you, Barda? You only start bitching about success when you've got something big on your mind." He smiled a little. "It's like your way of leading into it." He watched Barda lift the cigarette to his lips, watched him suck on it enough to draw smoke into his mouth. He hated smoking, and he hated it when Barda smoked – but he knew it was a habit Barda was never going to break.

"I'm a useless father." The moment the words were passed his lips, Jarred inwardly groaned. It was going to be _that_ conversation again.

"No you're not." He murmured, taking another bite of his baguette. It didn't matter what he said, of course, Barda was going to continue on regardless.

"I can't even get them a damn birthday present. I barely have enough money to live on. I'm in a dead-end job, with a shitty flat that is barely habitable for _me_, let alone my kids, and I'm a total mess." He crushed out the cigarette, too angry with himself to smoke. "Take a look at Lindal – she's got a great house-,"

"Your house." Jarred added, as he always did.

"A great house," Barda carried on, "and a decent car, has enough money to support herself and the kids, with enough left over to spoil them on their birthdays and on special occasions. She's got a great job that's taking her places, and goddamn it Jarred she never has a damn hair out of place, and she looks fucking fantastic. It makes me look like shit whenever I have to go over there. She's all smart and glowing, and I look like I belong in a damp cardboard box on the side of the road."

"The down-and-out look suits you."

"The kids are always happy there, they've got friends nearby and plenty of things to do. When they're with me, they try – oh hell do they try – but I know they're bored, unhappy, and uncomfortable. I can't give them the same things Lindal does. It's probably a good thing she got custody of them in the divorce. I don't know what I'd be able to do for them in her place."

"Look, Barda." Jarred said sharply, knowing he had to take a harsh tone to actually get through to him when he was in this sort of mood. "You're a wonderful father. No, you can't give them the same things as Lindal, but has it ever occurred to you that your children don't care about that? That all they care about is seeing their dad when they can, and enjoying themselves while they're there, because the next day it's back to their mother's, back to the routine?" When Barda stared at him and said nothing, he went on. "Children might be all about gadgets and technology these days, but they're still children, and children adore their parents no matter what. You give those four something to look forward to every week, a break from the constant routine, a break from their mother and a break from what they're used to every other day of the week."

"But-"

"No, shut up." He cut in quickly. "I'm fed up of you putting yourself down like this. By whatever deity exists, you're a fantastic father, and the most kind-hearted, honest, caring, gorgeous, and bloody wonderful man I've ever had the honour of knowing, and I can't see any reason why that goddamn _bitch_ ever let you go!" Jarred sighed once he'd gotten it all out, and took another sip of Coke, waiting for his words to sink in. He knew Barda would understand how seriously he'd meant everything – after all, he never spoke a bad word about Lindal unless he was either really pissed off, or being completely honest. He liked the woman, always had, especially when he'd seen how happy she made Barda, but the moment he'd opened his front door at 2am to see a soaking-wet, teary-eyed Barda, holding a couple of bags, he'd felt nothing but hatred for her. She might claim that Barda had been making her more and more miserable, but she hadn't been there when Barda had collapsed to the floor, whole body shaking as he cried himself into a coma.

"Jarred…" Barda murmured softly. Jarred turned, met his eyes. His breath caught in his throat when Barda leant in, pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, close to his lips. Although they were often friendly like this with each other, when sober and in no sort of giddy mood, it was always Jarred that started things off. "Thank you." Barda whispered. Then, as if someone had flicked a switch, he was picking up his own drink and taking a swig from it, and then he was back on about David.

Jarred only half-listened as he ate. He was always wondering if Barda actually knew just what he did to him at times like that. Right now, his heart was still thudding away against his ribs, his blood pulsing ridiculously fast. He doubted Barda knew just how his stomach flipped when he saw that smile, that wonderful grin, directed at him. He doubted Barda knew that his heart skipped a beat when they locked eyes across a room, across a table. No. Barda was oblivious, as always, to the truth.

He was in love with Barda.

He had been for so long – too long. Ever since Barda had knocked him over in the hallway at college, he'd physically ached for him. Throughout their first conversation, Jarred had been hoping – silently praying to whatever deity existed – that this gorgeous young man could be his. He'd gone home that afternoon with a smile on his face and a bounce in his step. He'd told his parents about the nice guy he'd met that day, and when his mother had smiled knowingly and asked if this guy had an interest in him, Jarred had voiced his hopes that he did.

The next time he saw Barda, two days after their first meeting, he'd been introduced to Lindal, Barda's long-term girlfriend and love of his life. And Jarred's hopes had been crushed.

He'd pushed his feelings for Barda to one side, choosing instead to feel lucky to be his friend – and Lindal wasn't all that bad, really. She was feisty and fun, and she seemed to genuinely adore Barda. She hadn't minded when a drunk Barda had kissed a slightly-tipsy Jarred. She'd practically encouraged it. The three of them became close friends, and life seemed good. When they left college, Jarred picked the same university as Barda, and they studied their separate courses together. They'd lived in the same accommodation block for the first year, housed together for the other two. They returned home, set about finding a studio to work in – and then, a studio to own. Lindal had been thrilled to hear the good news that they'd started their partnership, and had backed them every step of the way. A year into the exciting new job, Barda told Jarred he was going to propose to Lindal.

He'd been Barda's best man. He'd told amusing stories at the wedding, many of them involving Barda throughout their time at university, to which all of the guests laughed and teased, and yet Barda didn't stop smiling. He danced with Barda several times that night, much to the amusement of everyone else. He still had a framed copy of the photo someone had snapped at just the right moment – it honestly looked like it had been _their_ wedding. They were mid-dance, an arm around each other's waist, their remaining hands linked, faces close, eyes locked together. They'd been murmuring to each other at the time, and both of them were smiling. It was beautiful.

He'd been present when Lindal had told Barda the news about being pregnant – hell, he'd been the one she'd called when she first suspected it. He was there when Liam was born, and again when Mariah was born. He'd been away when the twins were born, unfortunately, but he'd seen the two newborn boys only minutes after they were born thanks to the wonders of webcams and internet connections. He'd been to every single birthday, anniversary, New Years, Christmas, Halloween… every time the Leordo family celebrated, he was there.

Until the divorce. Until she'd kicked Barda out of his own house, told him to stay away, threatened to keep him from seeing his children. Jarred hadn't been to that house since. He saw the children the same time Barda did, just for a while. He'd visit Barda when he knew they were round, so he could see them too. He'd take them out when Barda was stuck with a mountain of work, and sometimes he'd accompany them when they went places with Barda. He was always at Barda's for Christmas now, so he was always there when Lindal dropped them off early in the morning. It was strange to think it, but they were as much his kids as they were Barda's.

"… Jarred?" He came out of his thoughts as he registered that Barda was snapping his fingers in front of his face, and frowning slightly. "Earth to Jarred. Come in, Jarred. Contact is required. Can you communicate?"

"Sorry." He smiled a little. "Lost in my thoughts. What were you saying?"

"Just the usual shit about David." Barda shrugged. "But I realised it was about time we started heading back." Jarred checked his watch and sighed. "I know, I know. I don't wanna go back either. But Gers has been messing with my equipment again and I wanna know what else he's changed the settings on."

"Ever thought about taking it home?"

"You wanna cart a whole studio's worth of equipment back to mine for me?"

"… Touché."

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ Well there's chapter 2 XD Like I said, angsty Barda. More funtimes shall be had in chapter 3, when the kids visit their daddy. Review on the way out, ta! - homesweethomicide13_


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